


Grand Entrance

by Kateifer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateifer/pseuds/Kateifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His entrance and speech had been planned to the second.  To the letter.  He knew exactly how he wanted to come back to John.  But when the stage was set and it was his cue, he started to realize that it was much more difficult than he imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grand Entrance

John would be wondering why Mary was late by now. He would be trying to contact her to see if she was alright. Sherlock knew this as he stood outside of the restaurant, building up the nerve to go in. After three years of only old photos, of only going by reports that Mycroft gave him, of only being able to think about John in the limited time he had to himself between jobs, he would be seeing him again. He would be in the same room again. He would be telling John what really happened, and facing the consequences of his actions however they manifested themselves in Johns reaction. It should have been easy. Sherlock had imagined his entrance repeatedly by now. He should have been able to just walk in, but his nerves were getting to him. This was why divorcing himself from emotions was what worked for him. He was able to do what he wanted to or had to do and not be caught up in feelings. But this was one ocassion where his feelings demanded attention, when they managed to slip through the cracks and cause a little nagging doubt in the back of his mind.

John would be angry.

John had been hurt.

John had mourned.

John had started to pick up the pieces to move on.

What right did he have to come back? What right did he have to intrude upon the life of his best friend again? John was content. He was working again. He had Mary, an admirable choice of romantic partner even by Sherlocks standards.

Why come in and complicate things for him?

He knew why, though. He knew why he had to do this. He needed to try because he needed John. In a way that he had never needed anyone else before. What that meant for him, he was unsure, but he needed to see John. He needed to tell John the truth behind what happened, he deserved to know, and Sherlock had to at least try to have John in his life again, in whatever capacity he could. Whether that meant just seeing him once to have closure, or having John be his friend and living apart, or whether by some small chance that it meant John moving into Baker Street with him again and resuming their friendship and professional partnership as it had been.

Sherlock was dragged out of his thoughts by a Maitre D' clearing his throat and offering to take Sherlock's coat. By now, John was probably aware that Mary hadn't set up their date, depending on how quickly she replied, and then John would be getting ready to leave. Sherlock nodded, his coat was taken, and he straightened his posture.

It had to be now.

Sherlock walked into the room, and approached the table that he had reserved for John. John was absentmindedly sipping on his wine and checking his watch. Ah, so Mary hadn't replied to him yet. That made things easier. Sherlock approached the table as John checked his phone. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but he had a feeling that he wasn't entirely succeeding. Deductions about John were flying at him.

Some lost weight. The bags under his eyes were bigger, likely work related. No cane, his limp had not returned. A moustache, new, likely something he had grown during his time with Mary. A nice suit, purchased with his increased income from working. He looked relatively well. But something was missing. The fire in Johns eyes was there, but nowhere near as bright as it had been. Not as bright as it got when they worked a case together, when adrenaline once pumped through his veins during a chase. His posture was straightened, back to how it had been before. Less relaxed, military. He imagined how he had seen John at the graveyard all those years ago. Once his words had been said, he had been going through the motions, his military background reminding him to soldier on despite the pain.

And then, John looked up, and his eyes widened. Sherlock stood behind the seat across from John, and finally met his eyes. He had planned a speech, but it had all fled his mind with the onslaught of deductions and sentimental thoughts blending together. He opened his mouth once to speak, and John stood from his own seat, clearly searching for a reaction himself.

“Sherlock?” he asked, disbelief apparent in his tone.

“John.”


End file.
